


Breakdown

by Miss_Peg



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Angst, Big Bang, Community: mentalist_bb, Death, F/M, Gen, Goodbye, Murder, Pain, The Mentalist Big Bang 2012
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-01
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-11-27 19:53:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/665810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Peg/pseuds/Miss_Peg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Van Pelt wakes up in a large empty room, when the reason for her kidnapping comes to light, Lisbon is forced to make a decision that could affect everybody. Character death and violence. Written for the Mentalist Big Bang on LiveJournal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Grace Van Pelt

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Character death!  
> Thank you to kathiann for the lovely art to go with my fic, I love a good old chapter header and I can't wait to listen to the fanmix!  
> A massive thank you, as always, to tromana for the support, cheerleading and most importantly, betaing. I couldn't have done it without you!

'I got you some food.'

Grace Van Pelt opened her eyes, the world spinning painfully across her vision as she rolled onto her back. The cold, dank floor had given her a crick in the neck. She tried to focus on the man – at least she assumed it to be a man – who had spoken a moment before. When the room finally slowed to a near stop, he was gone.

'Wait,' she shouted, reaching a hand out to the floor and pushing herself up into a seated position - something which she regretted the second her head began to spin once more. She was close to vomiting, that feeling in her mouth where her lips tingled and she knew her stomach couldn't hold out for much longer. She snapped her eyes shut again and lay back down. The floor was anything but ideal; her whole body ached from head to toe. Sometimes it mattered little, she was alive and that was all that was important.

Van Pelt listened to the constant drip, drip, drip nearby, a sound that had infiltrated her dreams barely minutes before. She didn't know how long she'd been there, or how she came to be in such a cold and dark room. She tested her sight again, but the overwhelming nauseous feeling put a stop to that.

'Come back,' she groaned, resting a hand against the side of her head, where she could feel the evident shape of an enlarged, sticky bump. No wonder she felt so ill.

The last twenty-four hours were hazy; she'd been out on a case somewhere in the Napa Valley, a man had been decapitated. They'd just split up the workload; Cho and Rigsby went off to question the victim's family, Lisbon and Jane took a ride to the local police station with a witness they suspected of carrying out the murder. Van Pelt had stayed back at the scene as a team of divers searched the nearby lake for the head. She'd been put out by the unimportance of her role; she'd proven herself time and again to Lisbon and more often than not, she exceeded the role handed to her. On the other hand, she had not long since been dealing with the death of her low-life fiancé and the anger issues that had followed. Still, she'd felt hard done by, which was why the time spent by the lake had been anything but pleasant.

How did anyone expect her to succeed in her job if they kept pushing her backwards? Or so it felt. Van Pelt idolised Lisbon, she was one of the youngest senior special agents she'd met and when her role working alongside her had been confirmed, she'd been over the moon. She'd had a crazy idea that she might actually be able to learn from the woman - not that she hadn't already learned a lot - but she'd hoped that her acquaintance with Lisbon might aid her climb up the professional ladder. Realistically, Van Pelt knew that she was attempting to run before she could even walk. Another direction her life had taken since that fateful day at the safe house. O'Laughlin had not only been her fiancé, he'd also given her an idea that she could be greater than her current status. Not that there was anything wrong with looking to the future and hoping for grandeur and success. She just didn't give herself the space she needed in order to achieve her dreams. She wasn't as career-focused as Lisbon for a start, she wanted to get married, she wanted a family and as much as she would have loved to follow in Lisbon's footsteps, she knew it was all at the expense of everything else Van Pelt wanted in life.

She breathed slowly, in and out, her stomach settled as she kept her eyes firmly closed. Something was amiss. She couldn't remember what had happened after she'd sat down, frustrated with her junior status, she remembered footsteps and then, then, it all went blank.

'Eat up, before it gets cold.'

That voice again, so gentle, but not quite comforting. A chill spread through her body and she couldn't be sure if it was caused by the temperature in the room or the sound of this man - whoever he was - talking to her so carefree. Who was he? And what did he want with her?

She considered the rest of the team going about their tasks; Cho and Rigsby had no doubt stopped somewhere for lunch, probably Taco Bell (if they could find one) or a pizza joint. Rigsby wouldn't settle for a cheap sandwich from the gas station, if he did, he'd be grumpy all day and she knew Cho wouldn't appreciate that. Lisbon would be reining Jane in from wild accusations and a desire to hypnotise the suspect, or some mysterious plan he hoped to keep from her. The last thing they needed was for their only witness statement to be considered inadmissible in court should they be able to prosecute.

Van Pelt couldn't be sure how much time had passed since she'd been sat by the lake, there was no sign of any natural light and her head hurt too much to really know for sure if there were any windows nearby. She still couldn't open her eyes without feeling an intense case of nausea. Would they even know she was no longer waiting for the recovery of the head? Did the divers think she'd skipped out on them in favour of lunch? She hoped not, Lisbon knew she was serious about her job, but even so, the thought of anyone passing on such information annoyed her. She wouldn't have gone anywhere if she could have helped it. What if Lisbon tried to call her?

Her cell phone.

A moment of panic sent her head spinning once more; she wrapped her hands around her body, searching her pockets for the familiar bump of her phone; to no avail. Of course, whoever had taken her and put her in this, warehouse, derelict building, whatever it was, they must have taken it. Her gun was gone too; the holster she stored it in when on her person wasn't attached to her belt. Her stomach filled with a feeling she didn't often experience, adrenaline was one thing, but good, old honest fear was long ago pushed down. She gasped for air until her lungs filled with a couple of deep breaths and she doubted her ability to get out of this alive. It didn't help that she couldn't even open her eyes without worrying she'd vomit.

The ground wasn't smooth, more the rough ridges of large tiles. Van Pelt felt her way across the floor on her stomach, slowly, stopping frequently to ward off the sickness. She didn't know where she was going or whether there was any point in attempting to move anywhere, but she couldn't just lie there and hope Lisbon and the team would save her. She was an officer of the law; she had skills which could help in a situation like this. However, most of the time she didn't feel like her head was splitting in two. She still had to try, it was in her nature.

Maybe she would rest a little more, though. Slow and steady, she told herself, something she was reminded of in the years she ran track. Long distance journeys required more time and planning. Her hands were a terrible pillow but curling up in the foetal position gave her some comfort. The room was colder than was comfortable; she didn't expect to sleep, but at least she could rest her mind, if only for a few minutes.

Perhaps if she pretended she was sleeping, then the man would leave her alone and before she knew it, the team would be there, arresting him or killing him, it didn't matter, as long as she could go home.

A loud thumping reverberated through her brain, the pressure was extreme. Van Pelt pressed a hand against her forehead as the tears strolled down her cheeks. She opened her eyes and yet all she could see was blurred shapes around her. Fear, much stronger than before, grasped hold of her until she could barely let out each breath. She'd never been so scared before, not even when faced with her fiancé pointing a gun in her direction. She'd lost count of the number of times she'd stared death in the face, looked down the barrel at the possibility of her life ending and yet none of her past experiences had prepared her for this moment.

'Daddy,' she cried out, resting her palms against the cool, stone surface. The feeling of the ground was the only guarantee that she was somewhere physical and not spiritual, or so she assumed. She didn't want to die, she wasn't ready. There were too many things she wanted out of her life. This wasn't how it was supposed to end, alone, somewhere that she couldn't even see.

Footsteps vibrated in the distance, breaking through the beat of her heart and the thump of her swollen head. They were growing louder; it was probably the same person who brought her the food. The food which she'd not managed to eat and she wasn't even sure if it was still there.

'Crying for her daddy,' said the man's voice, laughing.

Van Pelt rested her cheek down upon the ground; the contact with the earth comforted her a little. She longed for the hustle and bustle of the CBI bullpen, of the mundane tasks of searching through files for names, addresses, patterns and themes. She wished to be sat with a smile on her face, laughing at a joke Rigsby made or one of Jane's annoying but hilarious pranks. She even missed the sullen expression on Cho's face whenever he was hard at work. She would have taken a lecture from Lisbon, a reprimand from the boss, even the loss of her job; if only it meant that she was safe. What she wanted more than anything was to be back by that lake awaiting news of the decapitated head; she metaphorically kicked herself for taking her life for granted.

The room felt darker, but she was clueless as to whether it was a sign of nightfall or another factor entirely. Did the team know that she was gone? Did they think she'd merely taken herself off somewhere for a rest, or did they fear the kidnap that was her reality? At least, she assumed she had been kidnapped. Why else would she be lying on a stone cold floor whilst a stranger brought her food? She wiped at her tearstained eyes, wincing as her fingers touched the wound on her forehead. The sickness had subsided a little, but that didn't mean she felt well enough to make a run for it. She still couldn't even see her hand clearly in front of her face.

'Not long now,' said the man's voice, its tone committed to memory. It amazed her how comforting a human voice could be in times of greatest need, despite the terrors she potentially faced with him nearby. What did he want with her?

'Til what?' she asked, rolling onto her back once more. She stared at the shape in front of her, squinting in the hope of clearing up the view.

'You'll see, Grace.'

Van Pelt rested a hand against her chest, feeling the speed of her heart beating faster and faster. Something about the way he said her name made her want to scream and cry. She had no idea why she was there, but she knew deep down that something wasn't quite right. Whether she would get out of the situation alive or not, she wasn't sure. What scared her most was dying alone.

In most other life threatening situations, she had been with others; when O'Laughlin shot Lisbon, when a US Marshall supposed to protect a witness looked ready to fire. Each and every time she'd been proactive and shot first, she'd defended herself and the others around her. She had done her job. But now, now she was left with no choice but to take anything that came her way. Her visual impairment was only second to the fact she had no weapon to defend herself. She expected that even with such impairment, her instincts would allow her to save her skin. Without a weapon she felt naked and useless. She'd not known in the early days how much she'd come to rely upon her gun. As a rookie she'd hoped it would become little more than a useful tool if and when she needed it, but to rely upon it for protection had been a far cry from the day she arrived at the Police Academy.

The footsteps started up again, growing quiet as the man walked away. Van Pelt wanted to shout, to beg him not to leave her there alone, but as she listened to his footsteps echo around the room she knew there was little hope of anything but adding a sore throat to her injuries.


	2. Wayne Rigsby

The van stopped in an alleyway, one not unlike the countless alleys that Wayne Rigsby had chased suspects down. He climbed out, his hands still bound behind his back. The setting sun made it so dark that he couldn't even see the door until it had been opened. A hand pushed him over the threshold. He turned around as the door slammed behind him. Something sharp pressed against the small of his back, he couldn't be sure if it was something simple like a golf umbrella or worse, a knife. Each step he took forward was slow and careful. Rigsby was constantly aware of the potential danger pushing him onward. He squinted in the hope of seeing beyond the dimly lit corridor and into the pitch black room up ahead. For all he knew there could be a hole in the ground ready to pull him to his death. A small, nervous chuckle escaped his lips. As dangerous as his job sometimes was, there was no way it resembled a movie. That much he knew for sure.

'What's so funny?'

He tensed up as the object pressed sharply against the base of his spine and he stopped laughing. The voice was as sharp as the object and equally cold as the building. He wanted to turn to get a glimpse of his captor but fear of what would happen if he did spurred him onwards.

'Nothing, sorry,' he muttered, bowing his head and focusing on the shuffling of his feet across the stone floor.

Eventually the potential blade was removed from his back and footsteps shuffled away. He struggled against the rope tying his hands together and eventually got free. His instincts sent his hands to his hip in search of the gun he usually kept close by, forgetting for a brief moment that it had been snatched away from him before he'd gotten a chance to use it. He stepped forward in the darkness, cautious of where he was going and what he might kick if he moved too fast. He'd never been much of a fan of the dark. As a kid it reminded him of the fights his parents had when his dad rocked up drunk right before landing up back in jail. Despite being a father himself, the only comfort of the dark was knowing that his little boy was asleep nearby and relied on him to comfort him in the way his father never did for him.

The thud of his foot against something soft and the grunt that came from below him made Rigsby fall to his knees, he reached out, his eyes slowly adjusting to the lack of light. Someone was there and he could only wish that it was the person he'd hoped it would be.

'Grace?' he shouted and the shadow of the body moved about on the floor, moonlight from a small window hitting the whites of the person's eyes.

'Wayne?'

The voice was tiny and weak, so much so that he barely heard her. He knew it was her though, he knew her voice anywhere. Despite all that had happened over the last couple of years, he still held her close to his heart, probably more than she did him. He reached out his hands and cupped her cheeks, which grew moist quickly. His heart sunk. She was always so strong, a tower of strength in even the greatest times. He would never get used to a Grace who cried openly; unless it was in the middle of a romantic comedy, but that was to be expected. This Grace, the broken, crying woman in front of him, made his eyes sting with tears.

'It's okay,' he whispered, pulling her close and wrapping his arms tightly around her shoulders. She winced, but succumbed to the comfort of his embrace. The way she sank into his body left him thinking of memories he thought were long since gone. She sobbed gently in his arms.

'I didn't want to die alone,' she said, crying freely against his shoulder.

'It's okay now,' he replied, cupping her face again and wiping tears from her cheeks. He rested a hand on her forehead, his fingers shaking as he pulled back a hand covered in blood. He loosened his grip on her momentarily and she clung tightly to the front of his shirt. 'It's going to be okay.'

The truth was that he was as scared as she. He'd never seen so much blood before, except on murder victims. He pushed her hair back from the other side of her forehead and moved his fingers across the edge of her wound, being careful not to hurt her any more. Footsteps shuffled across the ground once more, coming closer until he could see a shadow not too far away. He stared into the darkness in the hope that he would catch a glimpse of their captor's face.

'I need some water and some cloths.' The voice coming from his mouth felt alien, urgency he had little need for on a day to day basis. He imagined it would be how he sounded if his son was ever seriously injured. The person's feet shuffled a little closer, but they said nothing. 'Didn't you hear me? Get me some fucking hot water.'

Anger raged inside, there were few people he truly cared about in his life, but those that he did mattered more than anything. He wasn't one for playing games, Grace was hurt and he needed to help her. It was bad enough that he'd been taken too. They'd spent the whole afternoon searching for clues on her disappearance; he'd taken a drive to the drug store for some aspirin to clear up a headache. Lisbon was expecting him back at the office, but he wouldn't return. He imagined they’d already be hot on the case, Missing Person’s would be called in and there’d be a full scale hunt for the both of them.

The footsteps shuffled away, returning a few moments later with a bowl of warm water and a rag. It wasn't quite what he'd asked for but it was better than nothing.

'You'll be okay Grace, this might hurt a little.'

She groaned at first touch of the rag against her head, her teeth rattling loudly. He wrapped himself around her, holding her close in the hope he could help her to warm up. It wasn't very warm in the building; he didn't expect there was any heating, or electricity for that matter. She didn't speak, just hummed and moaned as he cleaned her wound and rocked her gently. Rigsby dropped the rag, soaked in Grace's blood, back into the bowl. He stripped off his shirt and ripped it up, using it to stem the blood flow. She could have already lost too much blood for all he knew; it didn't matter though, he needed to try. He lay back against the floor, holding her close as he whispered songs into her ear. A song that he'd sung to Benjamin the night before. It was of little comfort for the situation they were in. It made himself feel better though and as Grace's moans disappeared, replaced by her gentle breath, he kissed her lightly on the cheek and hoped that by morning she would still be alive.

The room was caked in a soft, pale light as Rigsby arose from his sleep. He stretched, forgetting for a moment where he was, until his hands hit the stone cold floor beside him. He rolled over and glanced at Van Pelt, cautiously watching for a sign that she was merely sleeping and not that his worst nightmare was coming true. She let out a loud gasp for breath and sat upright, her face pale where it was not still covered in blood. Relief surged through Rigsby and he wrapped her up in his embrace like he had done the night before, without a second thought he grazed her lips with his own, seeking something deeper as she responded to his actions.

He pulled away. 'Sorry...sorry.'

Silence fell over them until the shuffling of footsteps alerted them to the presence of a third person, assumedly the same one who kidnapped them in the first place. He wore a white mask over his face and the non-descript suit made it very difficult to gain any information about the perpetrator. Rigsby considered whether that made any difference, if he got out of this alive then he would be happy, catching the perp barely registered on his to do list. When he got home he would hold his son, make him laugh, tell him how much he meant to him. He would make love to Sarah because despite what had happened a moment before, he did love her.

'Breakfast.'

The voice was different, a little higher than it had been the night before. Whoever it was behind the mask, he wasn't the same person who left him with Van Pelt. Something about that both comforted him and left him with a sense of foreboding. If this man wasn't the one who took him, then it could mean that he wouldn't be the last member of the team to turn up here. It wouldn't surprise him if it was some sick game that Red John wanted to play with them; after all, the progress they had made with Lorelei had to have rattled him, at least a little. Usually his cronies were killed within minutes, hours or even days of their capture by the CBI. It had been two weeks, two very long weeks of little more than a few aggressive words shared between Lorelei and the team.

'When are you going to let us go?' Rigsby said, holding Van Pelt closer still, protectively. He ignored the tray of food as the man pushed it forwards with his foot.

With little more than a grunt, the man shuffled off across the large room and through a doorway. Rigsby watched; waiting until he was sure the man had disappeared from earshot. He cupped Van Pelt's pale cheeks with a grin, stroking the dried tear stains until she smiled back at him.

'I'm hungry,' she said, her voice still weak and useless. Rigsby nodded, reaching out for the tray. He fed her a bagel and some water, laughing as it spilled down the front of her shirt. She didn't seem to mind.

After breakfast he took a walk around the room, searching for anything of use. There was only one other door at the opposite end of the room, which was locked. He cursed himself for never learning how to pick locks off Cho and promised that if he ever saw him again, he would buy him a beer and ask for a lesson. He passed a pile of empty cardboard boxes and discovered a couple of couch cushions and a tarp which were abandoned in the corner. He dragged them over and made a bed for Van Pelt.

'Lie with me,' she whispered, resting a hand on his shoulder as he turned away.

He smiled at her and followed her request; he was cold after spending the night with little more than a vest covering his upper body. He held her close, pulled the tarp over them and they lay there quietly. He contemplated his life, his achievements and his failures. He regretted everything that happened with Van Pelt, more so than anything else he'd ever faced. He wanted to tell her, but he knew now wasn't the time. They were trapped, facing the fear of never seeing anyone they loved again, if anything were to happen, it would be more about the situation than feelings they had long since forgotten.

Not that he had ever truly forgotten how much he adored Grace. She had been the first girl he ever seriously loved, the only girl he'd wanted to marry without anything influencing that decision. Had their lives taken a different path, perhaps they would still be together. O'Laughlin wouldn't have been able to hurt her, Sarah would never have become a part of his life and maybe his son would also belong to Grace Van Pelt. Though if that happened, Benjamin wouldn’t exist. The only thing he didn't wish different was the little boy that he was so very proud of. If he didn't get to see him grow up, well, if ghosts existed then he promised that he would haunt the mother fuckers who did this.


	3. Kimball Cho

Kimball Cho reached for his gun as soon as he saw the man standing in his home. He didn't have time to pull the trigger before a second person came up behind him, taking him by surprise and knocking him to the ground. He was conscious, but the gun had slipped from his fingers and the two men were busy tying his hands behind his back and thrusting a gag into his mouth.

This wasn't a coincidence. First Van Pelt, then Rigsby, something was amiss and unfortunately he had no way of getting the message to Lisbon before she or Jane were the next victims. Someone was after the whole team. Despite there being two men capturing him, he didn't doubt the connection this probably had to Red John. He was a man of many faces, of many connections; whether either of the two men was Red John himself, Cho didn't know, but it didn't matter either way. They would inevitably slip through their fingers like all the others had. Cho couldn't doubt that the disappearance of two agents on their team in the same period of time as the disappearance of Lorelei was anything but a game plan, one that Red John had probably forged from the moment he had teamed up with the girl.

He succumbed to the men, allowed them to put a blindfold over his face and be dragged down the stairs and into some form of vehicle. There was no point fighting back now, there was little hope of escape after all, not where Red John was concerned. His best hope was to be taken to the place that Rigsby and Van Pelt were being kept and maybe there he'd be able to break them out. This was either a game the serial killer was playing, or a serious incident which could destroy in a matter of days, the whole of the Serious Crimes Unit. Cho hoped it would be the former.

They took his blindfold off after an hour or so on the road, he'd been frisked as soon as they bundled him into the van and now he was being taken somewhere else. He hoped it would be the same location as Rigsby and Van Pelt; otherwise, his plan would suffer severe setbacks. The possibility of seeing them again was merely a bonus. They pulled up into an industrial estate that Cho didn't recognise, after more than a decade on the force he'd learnt that one industrial lot looked the same as another. He watched from the back window, seeing only the tops of a couple of buildings as they drove on through. Anything that could help distinguish the location from the many others was vital to his escape.

When they finally pulled up down an alleyway and opened the door, Cho stumbled out with the assistance of one of the men. They pushed him towards an entrance and he cautiously followed their instructions. He didn't want to tempt fate by trying to escape too early. Whatever game Red John was playing, he probably expected such attempts, casing the joint was Cho's first job. It was up to him to recuse Rigsby and Van Pelt, after all, another few hours and Lisbon could easily join them and then who would be left? The Missing Person's Unit? Major Crimes? He wasn't one for competitiveness in the workplace, but most of those drones couldn't solve a case if it bit them on the butt. The involvement of Missing Person's since Rigsby's disappearance had already been a huge mistake that he hoped Lisbon wouldn't waste any more time on. Cho expected Jane to have already discovered some sort of link between their disappearances and Red John; he hoped he would be on the phone to Lisbon to inform her that she would be next. Even if she suspected Cho was still safe and well at home, Jane would know.

At least he hoped he would.

If he didn't, well, then Cho would have nothing to hold on to. He had to believe in Jane's abilities to keep the team safe and out of danger; it was his role in the Red John case which made it all the more dangerous, after all.

The corridor opened up into a large, mostly empty room. In the middle, a tarp was pulled over two people; he would recognise those heads anywhere. Cho's heart leapt into his mouth. Please let them be alive. Please let them be alive. One of the men pushed him roughly across the room and he took several steps forwards. Rigsby moved first, slipping out from under the tarp as Van Pelt wrapped it around her shoulders. She looked weak, Rigsby looked worried. But they were alive and that was the best news he could have hoped for.

'Best enjoy the time you have left,' one of the men said, laughing as they both walked away. Cho cursed under his breath and walked over to his colleagues, his friends. He accepted Rigsby's embrace, not least because his hands were still tied behind his back. Once Rigsby had helped him out of the constraints, Cho knelt beside Van Pelt and checked that she was okay. It hadn't escaped his notice that she and Rigsby were lay close together, though Cho knew better than anybody the benefits of body heat in order to keep warm. He'd spent countless nights in the arms of fellow soldiers in his military days, for no other reason but to stay healthy in colder climates.

'You okay?' Cho asked, glancing from Van Pelt to Rigsby.

'We're okay,' Rigsby said, nodding briefly. The look of terror in his eyes didn't quite fit with his words, but Cho ignored that in the hope that it wouldn't be catching. He was stronger than most when it came to kidnapping and hostage situations, he'd been taken as a prisoner of war once and had been captured – albeit briefly – a couple more times by enemy forces. Rigsby on the other hand had mostly worked arson cases; they each had their strengths and their weaknesses within the unit. This was his opportunity to put his experiences into good use. Now was probably the perfect time for his arrival, they needed someone to drag them through the rest of the ordeal, whether he could save them or not. At least he could provide them with a little comfort.

'Don't worry; I'll get us out of here.'

Cho stalked off across the room, he couldn't sit around tending wounds like Rigsby. He was proactive; it was in his nature even before he joined the military. He glanced back at Rigsby and Van Pelt, sharing a moment that he suspected was contrary to the vows he planned to make to Sarah. Then he followed Cho across the room.

They searched every inch of wall, every loose brick and every chipped tile. Rigsby banged his fist against the only other door in the room, his frustration difficult to avoid as he cursed loudly and kicked a pile of empty boxes. Cho reached out and rested a hand on his shoulder, he couldn't think of anything else to do to comfort his friend. Ordinarily he'd be able to pick the lock on the door, except that he had nothing in order to do that with. His pockets had been emptied and he certainly didn't carry hair pins around. He paced the room, ignoring Rigsby's request for freedom.

The hope of calming his friend once more was lost as Rigsby sat down against the wall, muttering things out loud. Cho heard Ben's name mentioned a couple of times. The only people he'd ever had to worry about when taken hostage was his parents and even then he knew that his career in the military was with obvious risks. He'd discussed it with his family many times and they'd all reached some sense of understanding over his potential untimely death. Their jobs at the CBI also came with risks, albeit much smaller and less severe. He didn't doubt that Rigsby was worried he'd never see his little boy grow up, after all, Cho knew how difficult a life Rigsby had lead without his father present. It made him think about his own life and the people who would miss him should he not make it out alive, aside from his family there was only his girlfriend and they'd been together for less than three months. The relationship hadn't progressed enough to become serious, they hadn't even slept together yet.

Cho continued to pace, if only to keep himself moving. He hated feeling useless. His only role there was that of protector, he was the one who had to fix this mess, whether he could or not was another story, but he at least needed to try. Rigsby had returned to Van Pelt's side, his face pushed into the crook of her neck and he shook slowly. Better her than him, the thought of being the one having to comfort a crying Rigsby was too much. He wasn't one for public displays of emotion, he'd grown up with the perception that men don't cry. They work and they fight and they protect those around them.

He barely allowed himself to think about the things he would miss if he didn't make it out; career progression, marriage, the joys of fatherhood. He never talked about his hopes for the future, but he wanted it all. One day he expected his children to have play dates with Rigsby's. They'd sit around drinking beer and discussing sports and their children's achievements. Even if he ended up heading up another team at the CBI, he expected them to remain friends. If things worked out.

'Hey Grace,' he said, walking towards them. He didn't know why it didn't occur to him before. 'You got a hair pin?'

She nodded and slipped the piece of metal from her hair. He smiled a rare smile and rushed back across the room towards the door. He was going to get them out of there, if only to prove to himself that he could do it. The pin slid easily into the lock and after a few moments he heard the click he'd expected, the door handle turned and he pushed it gently.

'Cho!' Rigsby shouted after him, his tone laced with a warning. He pulled the door closed, slipping the pin back into his pocket before turning around. A man dressed in a black suit exited the other door; a white mask covered his face as he dropped three bottles and three chocolate bars onto the ground. He didn't say a word as he walked out again. Cho returned to his friends and dished out the supplies.

'Think you can walk?' he asked Van Pelt, but her face was still pale and her hands shook as she tried to open her chocolate bar. He nodded briefly. 'You two stay here; I'll see what I can find out.'

He opened the door again and slipped through it, closing it behind him. He searched the corridor then set off along the tiled floor. He took a right at the end and continued onwards towards another turning. He had no idea where the corridor was leading, no idea if he'd be able to find a door that lead to the outside. Voices filled the corridor along with footsteps, Cho slipped behind a column and waited for the voices to grow quieter. Then he rushed on ahead. Wherever he was, he could sense there was an exit nearby, there had to be, he had to succeed.

Failure was a word he wasn't familiar with and he wasn't about to start using it now. He reached a corridor he recognised as the one he'd been brought through on the way in. He was so close to freedom that he could almost taste the fresh air with every breath. The door opened with ease, but as he rushed out into the alley he collided with something, someone, causing him to fall backwards against the wall. The commotion and the surprised shriek from someone in the alley must have attracted attention from inside and within seconds he was being dragged back to the main room.


End file.
